Sherlock's Past Lives
by otaku9
Summary: Otherwise known as, "The Dragon, The Master, and the Augment." Sherlock Holmes is a master detective with brilliant deductions and great intelligence. But, some visions will reveal him more than he seems...Visions from times long ago, and even times in the far future...References several of Benedict Cumberbatch's roles.


Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or anything else I've written here.

Sherlock's Past Lives

Gold. That was all he could see for miles and miles around. Gold coins, gold cups, and, he could sense, a beautiful stone somewhere in the pile that shone like the stars. He stood up, coins falling to the gold-laden ground. He stretched his long neck and inhaled an unfamiliar scent.

The smell consisted of spices, soap, and…tea. He heard fast, breathing. It was terrified. That was good. But, he couldn't see the intruder, the thief.

"Well, thief! I smell you, I hear your breath, I feel your air. Where are you? Where are you?" He could hear footsteps running across his gold. Stretching his long legs, he followed the thief, his steps bigger than the thief's.

"Come now, don't be shy…step into the light." He could sense some gold on the thief, but it wasn't his, nor was it an ordinary piece of gold. It was…different. He said so to the thief.

"There is something about you. Something you carry, something made of gold…but far more PRECIOUS…" Before he knew it, the thief appeared before him.

"There you are, Thief in the Shadows!" He exclaimed.

"I am no thief!" The thief insisted. The thief was a small person, smaller than Man, smaller than the dwarves, with huge bare feet going across _his _gold. The thief also had wavy red hair and blue eyes, and an upturned nose.

The thief continued to speak. "I did not come to steal from you, O Smaug the Unassessably Wealthy. I merely wanted to gaze upon your magnificence, to see if you as great as the old tales said." He chuckled. "I did not believe them."

He struck a pose at the little thief. "And do you believe them NOW?" He asked curiously.

"Truly songs and tales fall utterly short of your enormity, O Smaug the Stupendous…" The thief was lying. He knew this. For as long as he could remember, he had this sense of…knowing things. One look at someone, and he could know their whole story.

The thief was lying, judging by his posture, and the way he doesn't show eye contact to him.

"Do you think flattery will keep you alive?" He asked.

"No, no…" The thief said.

"No indeed!" He agreed.

He tried to get the thief's name, but the thief was clever. He had used titles, instead of his own name. "I come from under the hill…and under the hill and over the hills my paths lead. And through the air! I am he who walks unseen! Luck-Wearer…Ring-Winner…Barrel-Rider."

He was interested in Barrel-Rider. He was the most entertaining thing he has seen in a long time. But sadly, he was here to steal from him, and therefore, had to die.

"I am almost tempted to let you take it, if only to see Oakenshield suffer, watch it destroy him, watch it corrupt his heart and drive him mad…But I think not. I think our little game ends here!" He began to run after Ring-Winner, who had turned invisible again.

But he was in his domain. He was bigger, stronger, smarter. Plus, he had wings and fire, against Luck-Wearer's own two feet. Finally, Barrel-Rider had reached his end, had fallen over and couldn't get up.

His chest glowed as he prepared to breathe fire onto Ring-Winner.

"Goodbye, thief." He said before the fire engulfed the thief.

"Sherlock. Sherlock!" The thief's voice cried out. "Sherlock, wake UP!"

Sherlock Holmes's eyes opened to find himself in his bedroom.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" He turned his head to see the thief standing right in front of him. Although his hair was blonde and cut short, his feet covered with shoes, Sherlock could still recognize the thief. The thief that had tried to steal from him, the thief that had worked with those wretched dwarves…

"Sherlock, what's the matter?" The thief asked. "It's me. John." Sherlock blinked his eyes, his anger melting from him. That's right. This wasn't the thief. Barrel-Rider, or whatever he was. This was John Watson. A doctor, a soldier in war, his partner and…although he would never admit this, his friend.

"Y-Yeah, right." Sherlock stuttered. What was wrong with him? "Of course."

"Are you alright?" John repeated. "You sounded like you were having a nightmare."

"A nightmare?" Sherlock questioned him. "Me? I'm the Great Sherlock Holmes. I don't get nightmares. Anyway, goodnight John." And he turned on his side before John could ask anymore questions.

He heard John sigh and heard his footsteps walk further and further away from him. As the door creaked, Sherlock could faintly hear him say. "Everyone gets nightmares. Even you." The door shut and Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to get more sleep.

No such luck.

This was the first time Sherlock got these dreams that felt like him, yet weren't.

But they wouldn't be the last.

_End. I hope you enjoyed. Sorry it was so short. I'll have some more chapters up._

_ If you don't know who the character was in the dream sequence, I seriously won't update anymore._


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